


Tunnel Vision

by nojamsjimin



Category: GOT7
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Bambam is precious boy, Bambam is visually impaired, But also a sad boy, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Heavy Angst, If you have allergic reactions to feels imma slap a big fat warning label on this, Kim Yugyeom is a sweetheart, M/M, Markson aren't in this because I only needed five characters lmao, Yugyeom falls harder than hard carry's beat drops, Yugyeom just wants to help
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-02
Updated: 2018-04-18
Packaged: 2019-04-17 13:25:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 21,453
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14189901
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nojamsjimin/pseuds/nojamsjimin
Summary: "Bambam? Do you need help?""I don't...""Bambam, I'm over here."[In which Bambam is a transfer student who suffers from permanent tunnel vision, and Yugyeom is drawn to him like a flame to the wick of a candle.]





	1. Something's Different about the Transfer Student

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yugyeom meets the new student, a cute boy with a Thai name.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay so I wrote this like two years ago, decided I would just do some editing and then post it on here, so I'll probably update once a day or maybe every two days, we'll see.

_[Yugyeom's POV]_

I always thought of myself to be a grateful and content soul. I had a roof over my head, a source of income to provide food and other necessities, and friends who genuinely cared for and appreciated me. There was nothing else I could have possibly asked for. My grades were average, but in my opinion there was nothing wrong with average. In my high school, I was a member of a sports team, and it was for that reason that I ended up meeting many of the friends I had today. My mother and I got along well. I always urged myself to help her out in any way that I could in order to maintain that pleasant atmosphere we'd striven to create.

Even without ever having known my father, my life was perfect. I had no reason to complain.

In the start, however, I won't deny that my mindset was no where near to the one I had today. I was bitter, and for the longest time I truly believed I was incapable of achieving happiness. Jealousy and dissatisfaction with my own life enveloped me, and I spent each and every day pushing my mother and my friends farther and farther away from me just for the sake of creating distance. Because a part of me thought that would help. My chest felt empty, my expression void of the slightest smile, my eyes having abandoned any light they once held. And it was no mystery to me what the greatest cause of this was.

Shortly after I turned twelve years old, my dog died. The German Shepard, stricken in years, collapsed by the side of the road after we'd returned from a leisurely walk--at some point I suppose he just couldn't hold his own any longer. He had been my best friend since the day we adopted him from the animal shelter, and saying farewell to that great big ball of enthusiasm and joy was like sending a part of myself to the gallows, while the other part would be forced to watch from a helpless standpoint. My mother, sympathizing for me more than the loss of the German Shepard's life, took it upon herself to fill the "gap" in our home by adopting a new pet--not another dog, but instead it was a cat, not even half the size of our previous pet, and its fur was purely black like pristine charcoal. I hated that cat. Its presence was a painful reminder that my best friend was gone and would be gone forever, and all we had to show for it were a couple photographs and a pathetically undesirable replacement.

It tore me apart. Piece by piece. Gradually, it seemed, yet nonetheless only a fool would've been able to disregard that explicitly pitiful state of my life. However, on the very same day I thought to be at my lowest point, something fell into my line of vision, and I came to realize the most significant aspect that I had been overlooking from the start.

There were others out there who were so much less fortunate than me. There were people who couldn't experience the innocent bliss of being able to sleep in a bed at night, to be able to sit at the table with one's family, to even have a stable relationship with that family. To be healthy...to have a reason to be happy.

And so I set aside the pessimist inside of me. I began taking good care of the cat my mother had adopted with the intention of seeing me happy again, and I found myself feeling immensely grateful she had done so. Everything in my life had been set straight again. And I could smile like I used to, even with the subtly lingering jealousy that attempted to surface whenever I would see my friends with their fathers, and especially when I discovered how close they were with one another. I didn't need a father to be happy. I didn't need a dog. My family was complete, stable, satisfied. And so was I.

That was the way I wanted things to remain. To maintain this lifestyle, I thought it'd be best not to take risks, to avoid getting myself involved with strangers, to avoid getting myself involved with things that would bring to my attention something so very, very obvious.

But in my second year of high school, I found myself doing just that.

 

 

 

 

 

The start of a new school year brought pleasant weather, temperature of a little over 60 degrees, a subtle breeze, a cloudless sky, and just about the warmest and most welcoming sunlight I ever had the privilege of walking beneath. I was quite fond of how school started this time of year--it always seemed to shed a hint of positivity over the students, the teachers, pretty much every individual I laid my eyes who wasn't, of course, in the process of sneezing or putting on a face of discomfort due to allergies. And even many of those people still seemed to have about them an air of satisfaction. I hadn't met a great number of students who didn't love the jubilance and 'buddy-buddy' atmosphere that seemed to settle throughout the entirety of the first week, voices everywhere agog and simply bursting with animation at the thought of recruiting new souls who shared their passion or desired to do so--club activities, is what I'm referring to. And even though there were an abundance of options and opportunities to start something new, my feet always led me to the same place.

The basketball club was where I met my closest friends, three eccentric fellows who happened to be second years like me. We'd all gone to the same middle school. We'd spent these past four years of our lives bonding as teammates, as friends. I truly was grateful for all of them.

"You owe me a one-on-one next week, remember that, Yugyeom," Jinyoung said with a smirk, using his physical advantage to trap me in a headlock and tousle my fire truck red hair. That was how everyone always described it. They could see me from miles away, they claimed, and losing me in a crowd would be virtually impossible. Sometimes I was unsure as to whether or not they were complimenting or making fun of me. Either way, I wasn't too bothered by it. I quite liked my hair.

"You're in for a bad time, Jinyoung," I uttered in a low voice, tempted to viciously bite the bare skin uncovered by his sloppily rolled up sleeve. Youngjae and Jaebum, who were standing idly by, started to chuckle at the sight, turning their heads simultaneously in opposite directions, as if intentionally synchronized. Honestly, it was no wonder they were so often mistaken as brothers, or even twins. Things like this happened uncannily often.

As for Jinyoung, he was a bit different than the three of us, and people often wondered why it was we got along so well. Sure, he was tall, like me, good at basketball, and he was a real looker at that. But unfortunately, however, what he exceled in other things he lacked in academic skill. I couldn't count the number of occasions when Youngjae had to sacrifice his free time in order to tutor the big idiot, and even with his help Jinyoung was still handed back plenty of test papers with grades that were less than desirable. Miraculously enough, he somehow managed to pass every one of his classes. By the skin of his teeth.

There was only one downside to this year, and that was the fact that one of us had been put into a separate class--not for any strange or particular reason, thankfully, but nonetheless I couldn't deny it was a little disappointing not having the four of us all in the same classroom as we'd been these past four years. Alas, "2 Jae" would be torn apart by an unfortunate coincidence, and how heartbreaking it was to witness their exceedingly dramatic farewells to one another. Honestly, though--anyone who didn't know the context behind this exaggerated performance would most definitely have been taken aback at the sight of the two boys embracing and in a fit of forced tears.

"We'll see you at lunch in the cafeteria, Youngjae!" I called out to him, waving my hands in the air as he finally managed to peel himself away from Jaebum and trudge gloomily to his classroom. To remind us he wasn't as miserable as he was letting on, Youngjae threw a smile our way just before disappearing from our sights. Jaebum let out a sigh of discontentment.

"With Youngjae gone," he began, his gaze drifting to the floor as his lips bent into a pout, "now I'll have to be the one to tutor Mr. Blockhead over here."

"I heard that."

"I know. You were supposed to."

They were close. Regardless of how many times they denied it.

"C'mon, guys, we gotta get to class, too."

"Aye, aye, Fire Truck."

Due to 2 Jae's lengthy goodbye, Jaebum, Jinyoung, and I strolled into our classroom mere seconds before the bell rang, so we hastily claimed the first empty seat we laid eyes on. Quite scattered, they happened to be, with Jaebum in the direct middle of the room, Jinyoung in the front right corner, and me all the way in the back left corner. Other than the seats we had chosen for ourselves, there was but one more, coincidentally two seats away from both Jaebum and I. It puzzled me, because typically the teachers set out the exact number of chairs to seat the amount of students assigned to be in the classroom.

The reason behind it was made known to me as our homeroom teacher entered the room that morning, an unfamiliar boy gingerly following behind. A transfer student. Honey blonde hair fell just over his thin eyebrows...the roundness of his face made him appear slightly younger, but the way his gaze was so vaguely narrowed at the floor, even as he walked to the front of the room, hinted at a presence of maturity within him, or perhaps a weariness of mind.

That was my first impression of him, my initial perspective within the short amount of time that passed before he faced the class. That was when I saw them. Vibrant eyes the color of cognac wine that, at first glance, left me speechless. Not only due to jealousy--as anyone who was observant of a person's eye color would be--but also because of the expression they cleaved to. Whatever it was was inscrutable, and I thought it'd be a waste of time to try to decipher his reason for looking the way that he did. But I couldn't look past the familiarity of those eyes. Familiar in the sense that I, too, once held such an expression, but to a much lesser degree it seemed.

The class was introduced briefly to the new student, who I thus discovered was named Kunpimook Bhuwakul but apparently preferred to be referred to as Bambam. The teacher who did the introducing delivered the usual message as teachers do in this situation, for us all to treat him kindly and help him feel welcome in this new school. The boy said nothing. He just bowed politely to the class, then very, very slowly, crept over to his seat, all the while maintaining a discomforted face as he kept those eyes of his wide and alert.

With the soft sound of his book bag hitting the floor, class began. And while I was able to stay focused for the entirety of our classes, throughout our lunch break, our club activities and everything that came between, a short and quiet scene that unfolded before my eyes at the end of the day stuck to my brain and became a sort of afterimage.

A girl stopped by our classroom after the majority of the students had left school to go home, but several people, such as myself, had stayed a little longer for various reasons. She was a first year, if I weren't mistaken, and just as Bambam had, this girl didn't make eye contact with a single one of us, nor did she utter a word. Upon entering the room, she made her way silently over to the boy still seated in his desk and tapped his shoulder gently, standing by patiently until he had carefully swung his book bag over his shoulder and stood up. She had a sweet appearance, shoulder-length hair close to the shade of Bambam's, soft blue eyes that matched the color of the charm bracelet hanging loosely from her wrist. She was small in stature, even more so seemingly when standing next to the transfer student, who she soon linked hands with and led safely out of the classroom.

Every other second, she'd turn around to look at him, taking a moment to concernedly wash her gaze over both his face and his gentle footsteps. Girlfriend, was my first assumption, but something about the way they distanced themselves and their unapproachable auras made me wonder if there were something more to this relationship.

It was none of my business. I shouldn't have been bothered with it in the first place. But I suppose you could say that at times, I could be a little too observant of my surroundings for my own good.

It happened every day. The same scene at the same exact time, every day without fail. She would visit our classroom, a solemn look painted across her face, only to retrieve Bambam like a kindly and responsible mother picking up her lonely child from daycare. It sure seemed that way. I never once saw Bambam in PE class, or in any extracurricular involvements of any kind, for that matter. From what I knew, he never moved an inch from that seat of his until the moment came for the underclassman to arrive. It wasn't often that Bambam had been approached by any of his classmates. I had a strong feeling that it was because they could sense it too. That something was off about him.

I had seen it once. An amiable young lady named Rijin mustered up the courage to speak to him. Well, I guess it was more of an attempt. Even with Rijin's cheerful disposition and polite manner of speaking, she ended up being rejected rather coldly, but in a way that left her much more sad than offended. Bambam hadn't so much as glanced at her. His voice was low and nearly inaudible from the volume at which he was speaking at the time, but I did manage to make out an apology having left his tongue within their upsettingly brief exchange.

Indubitably, with every new occasion, no matter of what origin or circumstance, there came gossip. It truly astounded me, the stories people managed to come up with, the frantic whispering that ensued just upon catching sight of the boy eating his lunch alone at his desk, the apparent barricade that had been built around him which only that specific female underclassman could break down. Surprisingly enough, Bambam did receive some rather positive comments from amongst the small circle of girls who found his mysterious aura to be quite attractive, but from what I overheard during their various blushing and giggle sessions was that they were much too shy to go near him. For some inexplicable reason, I was thankful for people like them, even though I told myself I was indifferent to matters involving this transfer student. A part of me was convinced that the very core of my interest in him was based around that first day I saw into his eyes, and how, for just a moment, I thought to have been caught in the act. By him.

 _"It's that hair of yours,"_ Jinyoung had insisted without second thought. _"You stand out."_

I wondered about that. And though I was puzzled by it, that wasn't the only thing weighing on my mind.

We were three weeks into the school year now. Nothing out of the ordinary had taken me by surprise outside of Bambam's arrival, and my usual schedule wasn't the least bit shaken. I still worked diligently to pass my classes, took care of my mother whenever an opportunity arose, and at the end of the day, I still had enough juice left in the tank to practice basketball in the local park, which was located at a convenient distance of two short blocks from my house. And as always, I kept in contact with Jinyoung, Youngjae, and Jaebum, who I was pleased to discover were doing just as well off as I'd been.

I wished so earnestly for things to stay this way. I was content with my peaceful life, and I couldn't deny a part of me feared that even the slightest change in the wind's course would tear down everything I worked so hard for. And I realize now how selfish that was.

Everything changed the day the female underclassman didn't stop by our room.

It had become a regular thing for me to see by this point. Like a muscle memory, I would find myself awaiting the sight of her out of my peripheral vision as I wrapped up my conversation with Jinyoung, who often stayed as late as I did simply for the sake of doing so. And, as one might expect when a muscle memory is intervened, something clicked in my mind, and my attention gradually began to float away from Jinyoung and fix absentmindedly on Bambam. At first, I figured it was nothing--that is, I assumed that perhaps Bambam's friend had gotten herself caught up in other business and would merely be a few minutes late. But that turned out not to be the case. For minutes came, and minutes went. And she never showed.

It kept me on edge, and I knew that it was only a matter of time before my partial unease showed in my expression. In order to prevent Jinyoung from sensing this, I insisted he head on home before me, and much to my relief my friend asked no further questions, nor did he seem suspicious. So I waited until all the others were gone. Until no one else remained in the classroom save Bambam and me.

My heart was racing a mile a minute. It shouldn't have been, I told myself, internally spilling out nervous laughter. I liked to think of myself as quite the friendly individual. On most any occasion, I had absolutely no issue with approaching and speaking to a stranger, let alone a boy who was in the same age group and class as me. Nevertheless, I was a go-getter. There was simply no way that talking with him this one time could possibly alter my peaceable lifestyle.

"Bambam? Is it alright if I call you Bambam?"

His head had been resting comfortably in the small crook his folded arms had created, locks of his honey blonde hair falling over the edge of unbuttoned sleeves. Even though his eyelids were shielding my second chance at eye contact, something told me that he'd never been asleep. In fact, the boy's default expression actually made him appear sleep-deprived, and for some odd reason that made engaging in a conversation all the more challenging.

It took some time for him to even open his eyes, but eventually, Bambam did look at me. And it caused my body to tense up momentarily.

"Pretty sure it was already established I preferred to be called that," was his slow, soft-spoken reply. He had a rather pleasant sounding voice, very low, yet light and silvery at the same time. It was the kind of voice you'd expect would come from a natural-born singer. I tried my best to smile at him.

"Well then, Bambam, I know this is real sudden, and not to mention kinda strange and maybe even rude since we're already in our third week, but I just thought I'd introduce myself-"

"Why?"

His interruption took me aback, and for the length of what seemed like an eternity I couldn't find the right response to his simple yet puzzling question.

"Uh, well, I-I just..."

"Get to the point already. I know you're here to ask about the rumors."

"The what now?"

A prolonged sigh was drawn from his nostrils. "Forget it, I don't wanna hear your excuse for playing dumb. Just get to the point before Kohsoom gets here."

 _She must be that first-year_. "Isn't it late, though?" I pointed out in as polite a tone as I could manage. Unfortunately my endeavor not to upset the boy ended in utter failure, and with each further comment I set forth, I only seemed to fall deeper into the crevice known as one's 'bad side'. "Maybe she went home today."

A scowl stretched across Bambam's pale complexion, and with gritted teeth he spat at me a bitter, "That isn't right."

Initially, I'd thought he had a reason for this statement other than denial, for he expressed it in such a matter-of-fact way. But once again my incapability to keep my mouth shut ended up proving me wrong.

"Sorry, I didn't mean to accuse her or anything," I said with a laugh, scratching the back of my head needlessly. "So does she plan on coming by later then? A-ah, and before you get angry, I'm not trying to be nosy or anything, I just wouldn't feel right leaving you here alone."

"And why is that?"

"Well, I-..."

His sight was narrowed on me--locked on my eyes so vehemently that I became convinced I were the only thing he could see, the only object in existence that he even acknowledged at the moment, and the fact that I happened to be in a negative spotlight certainly did not help to boost my self confidence. My heart was caught in my throat.

"I was curious if you needed help of some kind."

I'd lowered my voice intentionally to a soft whisper, somehow fearing that my reply would be the wrong one. I shrunk into myself without saying another word.

"Do I...look like a helpless child to you?"

_Ah, he took offense to that._

"Listen, whoever you are--I don't really care who you are but look...I don't need your help. I don't need anyone's help. So just...please just be on your way."

"...is that your phone ringing?"

"It's not."

I raised an eyebrow at Bambam curiously, then pointed my index finger at the source of the noise and vibrations, which happened to be from within the book bag at Bambam's desk.

"Is that not your bag?"

"It is my bag."

"So is that not your phone ringing?"

"It can't be."

Bambam's gaze shifted ever so slowly away from mine until it fell gently on his hands, which soon became curled into tightly clenched fists. "It can't be," he said again, this time with a hint of despair. "She seemed fine this morning. She didn't tell me otherwise. Why wouldn't she tell me?"

"Tell you wh-"

_"Shut up."_

Bitterness. By this point I was certain he hated me. But for some inexplicable reason I just couldn't bring myself to leave.

"Aren't you...gonna answer your phone?"

"I'm not. I already know what it's about."

And so he let it ring. It rang and it rang until the sweet song it played ceased abruptly, and a strange, unsettling silence filled the room. And it sat there for some time--the silence, that is, till Bambam's tolerance of it seemed to reach its peak, and he snapped at me again. But it wasn't in a loud voice, no...I was beginning to wonder if he were even capable of raising his voice.

"Why aren't you leaving?"

"I'm waiting for you."

"But why?"

"Is it wrong of me to wanna talk to a classmate?"

A small, amused smile tugged at the corner of my mouth as I noticed he was gradually beginning to cave in. I had no evil intentions, so the success of my methods of uncovering more about this standoffish transfer student somewhat pleased me. However I was the only pleased one here.

"I'm not going with you."

"C'mon, don't be stubborn," I chuckled. "The principal's gonna kick us out soon anyway. Let's get out of here."

I wasn't sure when exactly it had happened, but somewhere along the way my confidence managed to restore itself, and with my own amiability now in control, I was able to smile sincerely at Bambam without hesitation. And I coaxed him out of his chair by gently taking hold of his arm and lifting it up whilst maintaining a friendly gaze. Well, in truth it was merely one-sided, for Bambam's eyes had drifted elsewhere.

Once I was assured he was on his feet and carrying his book bag, I made my way happily over to the doorway of the classroom, internally celebrating for having achieved what the majority of my classmates had since deemed impossible.

"Are your legs okay?" I shot Bambam a concerned glance, deeply puzzled upon noticing that he hadn't moved an inch from where I'd left him. "Bambam?"

"My legs are fine," he growled indignantly. His nose and mouth both visibly twitched with irritation.

"C'mon then, I'll race ya down the hallway."

"Not happening."

"At least don't make me wait here all day for you."

"I'm coming, alright?!"

I chose not to say anything after that. With my back against the door frame, I watched as Bambam clutched the straps of his book bag as though it were his life line, keeping his eyes firmly fixed on where his next footstep would be. His head seemed to wobble every now and then, eyelids fluttering, steps straying from what should having been an easy and straight course. And there was something about the clear unease in Bambam's expression as he walked that struck a cord in me, and I anticipated that guilt would once again take over.

Something was wrong.

"Bambam? Do you need help?"

"I don't..."

"Bambam, I'm over here."

He wasn't even looking at me anymore. Where he was he fell to his knees, inching himself backward until the solid wall touched his back. He allowed his stiffened posture to loosen while his facial features only became more tense.

"I can't do it..." came his hopeless whisper, followed by the sound of his bag sliding off his shoulder and hitting the floor. "It's worse today..."

I was afraid to ask any more questions. I was afraid of angering him. So I voiced my best assumption based on what I had observed thus far.

"You're sick."

"No, I'm visually impaired, you numskull."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yugbam? Yugbam.


	2. I Want to Know More

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yugyeom's curiosity for Bambam gradually becomes something he can't deny.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't be afraid to comment y'all, I don't bite.

He'd uttered this in such a casual tone, my mind almost completely overlooked it. It sounded more like a comeback than an actual, legitimate answer to my dogged conscience's question.

For all of two minutes, the two of us said not a word--Bambam, with his back against the wall, neck slightly bent so that he could stare fixedly at the ground at his feet, whereas I could look nowhere else but him. A part of me still couldn't believe what I heard, despite how some others may have taken such a thing lightly.

"I don't understand, you were able to find your way to your seat on the first day, and-"

"I'm not blind, you idiot." Bambam let out a noise of disgruntlement, frowning even more than before. "Visual impairment, haven't you heard of it?"

"Can't you just use glasses?"

"You really must have a thick skull."

"Yeah, I won't argue with you there."

I approached Bambam with careful steps, urging myself to avoid acting as though I were pitying him, while at the same time wishing he'd stop being so stubborn and independent. There was nothing wrong with wanting to help someone, and surely there was no reason for him to be refusing it so strongly.

"Gimme your hand."

"And what do you plan on doing with it?"

"I dunno, maybe intertwine our fingers romantically and skip off into the distance together so we can get married or something." I laughed quietly to myself, shaking my head disappointedly at the hopelessly confused expression Bambam now had on. I didn't mean to spite him. Anyone would've found it amusing. "I'm trying to help you stand, genius. Now take my hand. How far is your house from school, by the way?"

He had finally faced me, those cognac eyes wider than ever and flooded with an immeasurable amount of uncertainty. "A-...about six blocks," he said. I gave a low whistle in response.

"That close?"

"I...can get there...on my own."

_He's more hesitant now. That's good._

"You couldn't even make it to the door, pal, I don't think it's safe to let you walk home like this."

He fought it. Not physically, but I could see it--he was in the midst of a mental conflict, vigorously battling the urge to take another's hand and allow them to get closer to him, to see what it was that kept him so reserved. I meant what I'd said earlier, how I only had good intentions. Even more so now due to this newly acquired knowledge I possessed.

"C'mon, Bambam." I smiled at him in a sympathetic yet respectful manner--well, that was the look I strived to maintain, anyway. I couldn't be assured my efforts were successful until that ever present frown of his vanished.

He took my hand. Reluctantly, no doubt, but nonetheless it was progress. I rose to my feet and lifted him up along with me, taking heed to watch his face warily in the chance that his expression might change to something a little more...pleasant.

Witnessing the lack of positive change was honestly disheartening.

"I'm sorry."

That was the first thing he uttered once he was standing again. An apology--of all things, it just had to be an apology. Even to myself, I couldn't explain why that affected me the way it did, but I wasn't about to start denying it either.

"In this situation, I'm pretty sure you're supposed to say thank you."

"..."

"Oh, I get it. You're shy." I sported a playful smirk. "Don't worry. If that's the case then I promise not to tell your girlfriend."

"Girlfriend?"

Confusion. I realized then and there that my presumption had been incorrect all along. I let out a quiet laugh in spite of myself, considering not pressing on the matter any more then I already had, though I soon found myself doing so regardless.

"So, she's your sister then."

"...yeah."

I found it somewhat shocking that he hadn't responded austerely or with sarcasm. Improvement, I thought, this had to be improvement. As I led Bambam over to the doorway, now clutching his wrist kindly yet securely, I bit my bottom lip and endeavored to bury the last of my curiosities, reminding myself over and over again that this was none of my business, that I need not get involved. But each time I glanced over my shoulder to get another glimpse of his inscrutable countenance, I felt my feet sinking deeper and deeper into the pitfall trap I had unknowingly dug for myself.

The pitfall trap...of which was synonymous to the innate desire to understand others emotionally.

It really did appear as though we were the only students left in the entire building. The hallways, sufficiently lit by sunlight pouring through the windows on the left side, were entirely void of activity, void of the voices and laughter and people that typically were always found occupying its otherwise empty space. It was odd--I never stayed this late before. Sure, I did enjoy a little peace and quiet every now and then, but this was eerily quiet.

_All the more reason to break the silence, huh._

"So what's it like?"

Without even looking at him, I could tell that Bambam was already beginning to glare at me with a judgmental gleam in his eye. He let out an audible puff of air through his nose.

"What's it to you?"

"I'm curious," I replied in full honesty. "Respectfully curious, I should say. That is, if you tell me, it's not like I'm going to run around mocking you behind your back or anything like that. I'm good at keeping secrets."

"What's that got to do with anything?"

I hummed thoughtfully for a moment. "Dunno. I was hoping it'd make you a little more comfortable with opening up, I guess."

"You're trying to comfort me?"

"Well, yeah, I thought that much was obvious."

There was a hint of wavering disbelief in his tone, which almost tempted me to turn around to see if his expression had altered at all as a result. I was weak in some instances, so I did end up looking back. Bambam's eyes were on me.

"I have no peripheral vision," he said solemnly. His gaze didn't shift in the slightest, which put me somewhat on edge.

"No...peripheral vision?"

"Yeah, as in I can only see what's directly in front of me, and mostly, only out of one eye, although sometimes even that image is blurry." He moved his free hand up to touch his temple. "Like today, for example, I was suffering from a severe headache, and just about everything was out of focus. All except..."

"Except?"

Somewhere in the middle of his brief explanation, I had once again turned my attention to the hallway ahead of me so that I could be assured I didn't pass the exit whenever we came to it. He left me on a cliffhanger he did, and for a moment I wasn't entirely sure he would ever finish that statement he'd so haphazardly begun. But he did. Quite ambiguously at first, but he must have felt the need to clarify himself to avoid misunderstanding.

"...except you. With that bright red hair of yours, it's almost impossible not to see you...you stand out, has anyone ever told you that?"

"You have no idea..."

So Jinyoung had been right after all. Funnily enough, it was, to some extent, satisfying to hear him say what he did. And once again I could feel proud of being born with this flamboyant characteristic of mine. Even if it were in a roundabout way, I believed I was able to help someone this time around.

And what an oddly fulfilling sensation that was.

I ended up leading a one-way conversation absentmindedly for just about the entirety of our walk to Bambam's place, and throughout that short period of time the boy spoke not a word. He simply stared at the hand firmly gripping his wrist, almost as though a part of him believed it would otherwise soon disappear.

 

 

 

 

 

 

The events of the following day played out rather strangely, what with Bambam suddenly deciding not to show up at school and all. I couldn't quite understand. Up until now, he'd been coming to class--or, brought to class, rather, by his younger sister--promptly, on time, every day, always here well before the bell rang. It took longer than it should have for me to recall some rather significant words Bambam had uttered yesterday, namely the part about him 'suffering from a severe headache'. Still, it concerned me--just a little bit in the start, but upon discovering that the darling first year wasn't here either, suspicion became rooted in with my interests.

"You're acting weird today, Yugyeom."

I didn't snap out of my daze till the moment Youngjae began poking my cheek with the back side of his chopsticks, a curious eyebrow arched and aimed at me. Jaebum scooted closer to Youngjae and joined in the chopstick poking. Jinyoung scooted closer to me and grinned snidely.

"It's not often you zone out like this," he purred in my ear, casually slinging an arm around my shoulder just to shorten the gap. "C'mon, spill. Got a crush?"

I frowned indignantly. "Don't be ridiculous."

"Don't tell me, it's that cute underclassmen that's been comin' by our room every day, isn't it?" Jinyoung chuckled in spite of me. "Gotta say, man, I'm a little surprised. Could've sworn you told us you were ga-"

I thrust my fingers into Jinyoung's side, causing him to reflexively retract himself from me to cover up his newly acquired bruise. I allowed myself a bitter smile.

Jaebum made a quiet, thoughtful noise. "So you're bisexual then."

"Jaebum, don't encourage him..."

"I'm not," the brunet insisted innocently, returning his attention to the half-eaten lunch in front of him. "I'm just saying, we support you no matter what."

"He's right, Yugyeom," Youngjae said with a nod. "We just want to know if there's something on your mind you want to talk about-"

"There isn't."

I understood I was being rudely terse just then, but the words fell out before I could catch and reconfigure them. I didn't intend to worry my friends with the matter, especially since it wasn't something I had meant for myself to get involved in. But now they were sure to know. Being consciously aware of that, I put on my best smile and made it my mission to reassure them--however many times necessary--that there wasn't, in fact, anything on my mind that hadn't been there before.

But unfortunately, I wasn't able to carry on this act of mine forever.

Today, for a reason our teacher did not provide, we were given a free class, left with the requirement that we were to use our time productively, such as to study for upcoming tests and whatnot. But of course, as one could only expect from a handful of unsupervised teenagers, the majority of the otherwise empty air was filled with sounds of gossip and ridicule, most of which...was targeted at a certain absentee.

And as absurd and concerning as many those comments were, not a one mentioned of Bambam's eyesight.

_"I heard he's got a sister whose terminally ill. She attends this school."_

_"Do you think it's a contagious disease or something? Maybe that's why he's not here. Scary..."_

I made earnest effort...to block out their voices, the gossip, the rumors, all the ill-favored comments and negativity. None of them seemed to know about his eyes. At first, I felt a little special, that I was the only one he told--even if doing so hadn't been quite on his own will. But then I took the time to ponder the possibility of what a sad truth this could've been in reality.

Visual impairment. No peripheral vision. Blurry faces, blurry objects, an incapability to move from place to place with ease. This was all the information I had gathered from Bambam from just one day of speaking with him. Such a battle he seemed to be fighting, and with no one there to help him, nonetheless, save that girl, who appeared to be fighting a battle of her own.

Little did I know that with everything I learned...I sank deeper. And this was only the beginning.

The next day, Bambam was absent again, as was his sister. But on the following morning, I caught sight of him, and on the way to school, no less. What tore at me though wasn't merely the fact that he was walking alone, but the undeniably forlorn look stretched across that pretty pale face of his. Eyes on the ground at his feet, Bambam didn't notice me gaining on him from across the street, and I took it upon myself to be cautious in my approach. The last thing I wanted was for him to dislike me any more than he already did.

"Bambam?"

I tried calling out tenderly to him, hesitant to touch his shoulder even after I had him within arm's reach. I was certain he'd detected my presence by now, but closing the gap was still something fear accompanied.

"Good morning, Bambam."

I opted for a friendly side-by-side walking position, feeling obligated to train my gaze on his eyes, despite being aware I was most likely not in his line of sight at the moment. He could hear me. I figured that was enough.

"Has your headache gone away?"

Once again, he didn't respond. I knew he could hear me. It wasn't as though his ears were plugged with earphones or speakers of any kind; they were wide open to receive my voice, and yet Bambam didn't do so much as part his lips. There was something on his mind, and whatever it was possessed enough power to seal his tongue...or at least, it seemed that way.

"You're starting to wobble a bit there, I can hold your wrist again if you want-"

"Leave me alone."

I had upset him. And, like before, it was completely unintentional. This wasn't prying, I told myself, it was but harmless concern. This wasn't pity, I said over and over again, this was an innocent desire to make someone's life easier.

This wasn't pity.

"Has it gotten worse?" I lifted my arm slowly and started to move it subtly towards Bambam's wrist. "How blurry are things now? Here, look this way and tell me how clear my face is-"

It was as though the slightest movement had triggered a motion sensor within the boy's mind, urging him to tear his arm away from its near contact with my hand...which remained suspended for some time, even as Bambam's feet carried him away from me. I couldn't explain why this little action of his formed inside of me somewhat of an empty, discontented feeling, but it ate at me, little by little.

"How about your sister?"

That was when the bomb dropped. Truly, there was no one to blame but me; this time I was sure I had stepped over the line. The way Bambam so abruptly stopped in his tracks, the ever so slight tremor in his hands as he tried to bury the apparent desire to wring my neck. That alone was enough to ensure me that my question did not sit well with him...that matters concerning his sister were not to be touched on.

"I'm sorry, I shouldn't have-"

"She's being warded."

He must have merely wanted to shut me up, and I had to admit, he did a good job. For just a moment he froze in place, suspended in an air of uncertainty, but also clear-cut pain. Bambam didn't need any more than a few simple words to convey the deepest feelings of his heart, the voice of shameless truth that wanted to be heard, but simultaneously feared judgment. All I could do was watch him, my eyes peeled for the slightest alteration in his movements, the direction of his gaze, even his hands. They appeared limp now--no longer twitching, as though they'd given up on the idea that they would be held again.

It was disheartening, watching him walk away. And to this day I regret not running after him.


	3. Black Cat

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Hey, Bambam. You should stop by the gym after school. I want you to watch a basketball game."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> lmao i'm not dead

Bambam had acquired a gravitational pull of his own, one whose force was so mercilessly dominant against me, and with each passing day that force grew frighteningly stronger. He started to leave school earlier-much earlier than any of the other students, which completely contrasted with his behavior up until this point in the school term. Kohsoom apparently wasn't coming to school throughout all this, basically confirming Bambam's statement, and backing up our classmates' widespread rumors.

But things didn't stop with Bambam's sister. How they managed to uncover such things was beyond me, but the rumors and dramatic stories continued to grow and expand far past that of Kohsoom.

According to what I overheard, the people were discussing the possibility that perhaps Bambam's family was cursed. By now they had discovered about his visual impairment, and upon digging deeper into unspecified sources, they found out that his mother had passed after several years ago from a terrible illness, and his father had been fired from his job, currently striving to provide enough money to take care of his children with his new and lesser wage.

The Black Cat Family was going viral. And I couldn't stand it.

 

 

 

 

 

"Hey, Bambam, why don't you join my friends and I for lunch?"

"Not a fan of crowds, thanks."

"W-...what about just me, then?"

"Not interested, thanks."

"Mean..."

Bambam closed his eyes gently and let out a soft breath. If I weren't mistaken, I could've sworn it was an attempt at a scoff, though it came off as nothing but tired and lazy effort. He wasn't putting as much energy into rejecting me, that was for sure. 'Lackadaisical' would be an understatement. He was utterly drained.

"Jinyoung and Jaebum already left for the cafeteria, so it's not like I'm being waited on." I casually slipped out my phone and prepared myself to notify Youngjae of the reason for my absence. "They'll understand."

"What're you doing...?"

"I'm eating lunch here with you, obviously."

At last, Bambam had brought himself to look at me again, and inside my head bells tolled the toll of victory, a slight smile battling to make itself known. Instead, I slid into the nearest seat and spun around to face the blonde boy, carefully setting my lunch down on his desk. All the while he stared at me, those cognac eyes, though nearly void of light, somehow managing to steal my attention and make breathing almost a strenuous task.

Almost.

"How 'bout that lecture today, huh?" I quirked an eyebrow, eyeballs rolling in their sockets almost like a reflex triggered by the memory of our teacher's excruciatingly lengthy, one-way discussion earlier on, a considerable portion of which I slept through. "Man, I can't stand Korean History. It can be kinda cool at times...I guess...but for the most part it just goes right over my head. You know what I'm saying? Like, especially when it comes to the m-"

"Why are you here?"

"Injured my leg. Don't feel like walking to the cafeteria-"

"Quit messing with me."

Acrimony underlaid his voice like a sheet of ice, and tragically enough this wasn't thin ice, but rather the kind that grew exponentially thicker with the passage of time. He knew I was cooking up excuses to avoid providing an honest response.

"Sorry, sorry, I'm joking." I stuck out both of my legs and began bending them repeatedly just to prove my statement. "My legs are fine. I'm actually just here to spend time with you."

I was pushing him further and further past a limit he wasn't fond of touching. He found me obnoxious. Indecipherable. Insufferable. I was certain of it. So why couldn't I shut myself up? Why couldn't I bring myself to realize when my presence wasn't appreciated?

There was only one reason; so long as Bambam continued to hold up this front of his, nothing would interfere with me tearing it down--piece by piece, if necessary.

"You never answered my question, by the way. Your sight-"

I pressed my index finger against his forehead, softly moving it across his face until I reached his now lidded eye. The skin was smooth, delicate, even, like a fragile crib cradling and preserving what remained of its most prized possession--Bambam's diminishing sight. It shocked me, as well as satisfied me, that he didn't move away so quickly. Instead, our gazes locked again. And they held one another.

"Tell me how clear I am to you."

He wouldn't budge. I had captured him once more, having gradually reeled him closer in to become securely wrapped in the aura of my attention and voice. It was simultaneously gratifying and mystifying to the point where I, myself, lost track of how long I'd been staring. In my defense, though, whatever spell I was caught under rendered me powerless to the entity of this boy's atmosphere.

"Clearer...than most," he said at last, and his fingertips brushed against the surface of my palm, as though he were halfheartedly attempting to push the hand away. "Even in a tunnel, you're...clearer than most."

"Good."

It thrilled me. Hearing him say this...

...filled me with joy.

It wasn't strange; after all, who wouldn't be happy about making progress?

"Hey, Bambam. You should stop by the gym after school. I want you to watch a basketball game."

"There's no point. Following that little orange ball around the court is too difficult, my eyes can't follow-"

"Then just train them on me."

Puzzlement. I smiled warmly at his expression.

"Your eyes, Bambam. Just train them to look at me; based on what you've admitted at this point, that shouldn't be too hard, right?"

What I was doing was risky, but I was more than willing to take that risk. I was sincere, without a doubt, and if Bambam could sense that, then there shouldn't have been any misinterpretations with my invitation.

I wanted to know him. Nothing more, nothing less. I just wanted to be able to claim that I knew him better than anyone.

"You'll love it, Bambam. Just trust me."

 

 

 

 

 

The following hours of that day sped past in a blur, and I soon concluded that this illusion was formed out of anticipation, the excitement and anxious beating of my heart awaiting what was to come. Perhaps I was expecting a little too much; I kept that in mind, but positivity was overpowering. Basketball was my passion--surely, if Bambam were to watch my earnest efforts in action, he would be inspired in one way or another. Now it wasn't that this confidence of mine was blinding me, I simply say this from experience. Years ago, before I had become molded into the individual I was today, I remember sitting down at a basketball match one day--Jinyoung's match--and the sparks that shot off from the crown of his head all the way down to the heels of his shoes struck me, a once indifferent, naïve little boy who never expected to take an interest in...well...anything. It had since been a dream of mine to change someone the way Jinyoung changed me.

Hopeful thinking. I just had to stick to it.

"You're real antsy today, sport. Nervous?"

I felt my captain's firm hand clasp down on my shoulder, startling me. I immediately began shaking my head rapidly at him.

"It's just a practice game," he assured me, "so you can relax."

"Not antsy, not nervous, and I am relaxed." Jogging in place, I resumed with my pre-practice stretches, unintentionally shrugging off the quirked eyebrow aimed right at me. "I've got someone coming to watch me today, that's all. I'm all good..."

"Ah, so that's it then. A girlfriend?"

_Again with this..._ "No, sir."

Jinyoung, Youngjae, and Jaebum all eyed me from the distance. I could see it clearly in their omniscient scrutiny...they just knew. Even though I hadn't brought it up a single time within our conversations throughout the day, they could just sense that I was waiting for someone. My eyes were constantly, conspicuously scanning the perimeter of the gymnasium, the doors, the benches, heck, even the closets--not that I expected him to waltz out of there or anything. I just wanted to be certain.

I didn't want to rush him, though mentally, I was. But I had to remind myself I had given him a choice. I wasn't going to force him to come, so in the end, if he decided to accept my request, I would have to respect the fact that his arrival might be delayed due to obvious circumstances.

"In position, boys! We're about to start!!"

I had to believe in him.

"C'mon, Fire Truck. My lunch tomorrow depends on the outcome of this match."

I had to trust that he would show.

"Yugyeom, eyes forward!"

"Y-yes, sir!!"

And so it began.

Time crept on by as slowly as ever. This was a practice match--nothing official, just a friendly game among teammates to assess our abilities, identify where improvements were necessary, and have fun. And I did have fun. But a piece of my mind had been out of my reach throughout the entirety of the game, most likely fluttering over Bambam's head...wherever he was. But although I was certainly distracted, I didn't allow that to interfere with my involvement in the plays, and to the best of my ability I treated today's match as any other.

"Man, you really carried your weight out there, Yugyeom, just like always." Jinyoung tousled my hair with the knuckles of his right hand, paying no mind to the sweat drops dripping off his fingers like water from a leaky spicket. "Thanks to you, I'm getting a free lunch, all expenses paid courtesy of the bitter expresso."

"Screw you, Jinyoung, having little miss sunshine on your team is basically a handicap."

"Don't be so salty, Jaebum. Salt takes away from your already nonexistent cuteness factor."

"Youngjae, permission to drive my foot into the blockhead's gut?"

"Don't do it."

Jaebum let out a sigh of disgruntlement, pouting whilst he folded his arms in an indignant manner. "One of these days you'll give me permission...one day..."

Youngjae smiled a bit at the sight of the bickering duo carrying out their usual antics, withdrawing himself casually to stand beside me. Now that the game was over, the majority of our teammates were preparing to lock up for the day, emptying all excess basketballs into their designated bins, putting away any gear belonging to the school, mopping up sweat city off the surface of the gymnasium floor till it shone. However these tasks were only meant for the losers, such Jaebum and Youngjae, whereas Jinyoung and I were free to watch them blissfully from an imaginary podium within a nonexistent winners' circle. I wasn't one to get proud, but Jinyoung, on the other hand, was always willing to blatantly bask in the glory of a victory, no matter how small nor how insignificant.

Well, I shouldn't say that. No victory is insignificant.

"I gotta get home, I'm supposed to babysit for my parents tonight." Jinyoung slapped my upper back, grinning as he unmindfully ran his fingers through my hair once more. "Don't get lost on your way home."

"Doki doki. Jinyoung-oppa is so handsy these days..."

Jinyoung made a partially disturbed, partially amused face and playfully shoved me away as he began to make his way towards the gymnasium doors. The second he was out of sight, I lazily combed my hair back to its original style before the blockhead had destroyed it. What I needed now more than anything was a shower to wash away the awful stench.

"Yugyeom."

"What's up?"

I turned to Youngjae, silently giving up on the idea of wringing the sweat from my crimson locks. Stamina was most definitely one of my strong suits, but nonetheless with great movement comes great big buckets of sweat...

Youngjae was smiling in an odd way. I tilted my head at him.

"Is there something you haven't told us yet?"

Now I was even more confused. "What do you mean-?"

"You've got a boyfriend, don't you? He's the one who's been watching you and only you the entire match."

_What._

"I'm happy for ya, Yugyeom. You really should've told me sooner. As your friend, I'm entitled to know these kinds of things, aren't I?"

_"Youngjae!!"_

Youngjae flinched noticeably at the captain's booming voice, and he sidestepped, winking at me whilst mouthing the words, _'introduce us soon, won't you?.'_

The gears in my head must have been learning to rust spontaneously, for even without a buildup of any kind, they began to slow down my thinking and retaining process considerably. Youngjae's words didn't hit me until he had long since abandoned my presence. And for some reason I felt a compulsive urge to turn my eyes towards a certain bench, located on the far end of the court from where I stood.

Blonde strands of hair peaking out from a dark, hooded sweat-jacket, Bambam sat with his back hunched over, fingers fondling a pair of sunglasses as though he were debating whether or not to put them on. My voice became lodged in my throat. At that moment, I couldn't find the words to speak, so instead I just ran to him.

"B-..." _Holy crap, why do I feel so happy right now?_ "Bambam, you're actually here..."

He shuffled his feet in silence.

"Did you see me out there? Did you see me do well??"

Bambam continued to stare at his sunglasses. "You were fast..." He paused. "...but I could see you."

I didn't notice it at first--perhaps I hadn't been paying attention, or maybe it had just now appeared. There was something on his face, near the center, up towards the corner of his left eye, a hint of red. He was pouting somewhat, bottom lip curling ever so slightly so as to express a feeling akin to embarrassment. My chest tightened momentarily.

"You've got what some people might call talent."

A compliment. No matter what way you looked at it, he complimented me. And receiving a compliment out of nowhere from someone who could've easily been mistaken for the Grinch who stole Christmas...well, it shook me.

_I do not have a praise kink, I do not have a praise kink, I do not have a praise kink, I do not have a praise k-_

"I'm, uh...really glad you came, Bambam."

"It's beyond me why."

I stifled a laugh. "What do you mean by that? All I wanted was for you to have a little fun, maybe shed some light on dark times, ya know?"

I lowered myself to the bench, which was vacant of people save Bambam, and subtly scooted closer so that only a smidgen of space separated our bodies. Since he was already sitting on the far end of said bench, Bambam was unable to move farther away of me without rising from his seat, and somehow I doubted he would go that far simply to expand the physical distance.

"If you clutch those glasses any harder, you're gonna break 'em."

"So be it then," the boy grumbled in response, drawing his eyebrows together to form a discontented frown. "It's not like I really need them. I only brought these for a disguise."

"Disguise?" Hold on, what? "Is that also what the hoodie's for?"

"Yeah. It is."

That was when he stood up. The sunglasses slipped out of his grasp, falling almost in slow motion before striking the ground, acting as a starting whistle which sent Bambam the snail on his way to the gymnasium exit. He wasn't running from me this time. There was another reason for his behavior.

"Youngjae! Jaebum! I'll see you guys later!!"

_"Don't get jumped by any creepy strangers! You gotta preserve that good butt of yours!"_

"You, too, Jaebum!"

In the brief amount of time I had my back turned to Bambam, he had somehow managed to quicken his pace enough to reach the door before I reached him. _Impressive_ , I thought, _maybe he's testing my tenacity_. So I chased after him, striding with large, confident steps until I was once again standing by his side.

"You're a funny guy, Bambam," I said teasingly, casually slinging my arm around his shoulders. "A disguise? What, are you hiding from someone?"

He tensed up.

"...Bambam?"

"Everyone. Those who recognize my face and appearance easily, I can't let them see me in such a place..."

"You're embarrassed to be viewed as a basketball fan?"

"That's not what I meant. You're really clueless, aren't you?"

"Yup. Pretty sure we've been over this."

Bambam scoffed at me in disgust, shimmying his shoulders in hopes that he'd be able to shake me off. I highly doubted he would try to make a break for it, especially since he was already presenting himself ready for the trip home, that light sweat jacket covering his torso and his school bag already swaying at his side. So I let him go.

It remained quiet for quite some time after that. Bambam was able to keep my walking pace without visually straining himself, and holding his wrist wasn't even necessary. He was, however, wearing a rather troubling expression which had me subtly eyeing his face roughly every ten seconds, only to find that, sadly, it wasn't changing in the slightest. It seemed as though by attempting to solve one of Bambam's problems, I had tragically and unintentionally caused a new one to surface.

"Bambam, I don't really understand what you're getting at, but regardless of why you're so upset about all this, I'm really happy you accepted my request. My team achieved a victory today with flying colors. You must be like a good luck charm."

"A good luck charm?"

The cutting, acrimonious tone of those soft-spoken words struck my ears like an amplified whisper, and without my knowing, that whisper began to settle itself into my core. It was painfully obvious that Bambam disagreed with my statement in some way, as though my choice of words had hit him close to home, the very same place he hated to be touched. But I couldn't imagine why. To my knowledge, I hadn't said anything that should have upset or offended him.

But then again I've been wrong before.

"I'm going home."

"Bambam, wait-"

"You've got everything you could possibly need."

My heart stopped for a second. "What?"

"Talent, friends who genuinely care about and love you, you've got a passion, something that motivates you, and I'm sure you've got a lovely family waiting for you back home."

I faintly heard him release a laugh, brief and bitter, through clenched teeth.

"You're not fooling me, I'm sorry. How ironic it is that I'm the one with poor sight, and yet you're the idiot being blinded here. Whatever your motives are for messing with my time, I highly suggest that you lose them before it's too late. Don't be foolish...please, just never talk to me again..."

I didn't realize then just how many blue undertones were scattered throughout Bambam's message to me. He was heartsick. Why couldn't I see that? The boy was continuing to distance himself, all because I was making progress in destroying his barriers, and the fact that he was consciously aware of this drove him to build more.

It was starting to feel...like I was traveling backwards.

And even though I was discouraged, I never did stop talking to Bambam.

But he stopped talking to me.


	4. I'm Here for You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yugyeom continues to chase after Bambam, and it leads him straight to a hospital.

This went on for days. Our one-way conversations, unfailingly beginning and ending with my voice, my words. Surprisingly enough, Bambam never fought me. He never did so much as to lift his finger to shoo me away, but rather simply acted...like I wasn't even there. After a while it started to feel as though I were talking to a ghost, an imaginary friend, an illusion, a disheartening reflection of my hopeless status in Bambam's life.

But I refused to stop.

"Hey, Bambam, did you hear what was on the news this morning? Scary, right?"

"Hey, Bambam, are you getting enough sleep? Your eyelids are lookin' heavy."

"Hey, Bambam, have you ever tried pork cutlet bowls before? _It's like eating heaven, I'm not even kidding."_

"Hey, Bambam, I heard it's supposed to rain today. Did you bring an umbrella? If not, no need to worry. I've got an extra large one we can share."

"Hey, Bambam, have I ever told you I'm uber jealous of your eye color? Seriously, though, how many girls d'you think would have fallen in love with you if they'd just take a closer look?"

"Hey, Bambam, it's been a while since I've heard your voice. I really wish you'd start talking again."

"Hey, Bambam...I'm really worried about you..."

It was growing tiring; somewhere along the way, my enthusiasm had threatened to abandon me, to remove itself entirely from the picture, to let my plan fade out into the background like a silly little dream I'd long since given up on. He stuck around, just as I said, never moving, never struggling to push me away; he never spoke, not even a single 'leave me alone' uttered by that tired mouth of his--until one day, however, when something in the boy finally seemed to snap.

"Hey...Bambam...you're...really good at art..."

"Wh-"

My heartbeat quickened as my ears detected a slight sound escape his lips. It was instinctive, completely due to him having been caught off guard, but nonetheless it flooded my entire being with overwhelming relief, and there was no doubt it showed in my expression. Bambam froze on the spot, clutching his number two pencil as his fingers and facial features began to twitch uncontrollably. He wasn't angry. This was embarrassment again.

"No way...is that Kohsoom?" I smiled widely at the sight of the familiar girl, her essence captured perfectly through mere graphite and paper. I almost couldn't believe my eyes. I had seen her enough times to vaguely recognize her through subtle implications, such as the roundness of her face or the wideness of her eyes, but this picture left absolutely nothing to the imagination. "It's beautiful..."

Bambam shrunk into himself, caressing the surface of his pencil before laying it gently on his desk, right beside the drawing of his sister. "I plan on sending this to her...while she's in the hospital," he said softly, almost shyly. "Kohsoom...was the one who taught me the basics of art. She's the kindest and meekest person I've ever known..."

It was a sweet sight to behold, watching the way Bambam's eyes swept over the drawing as though it were his most prized possession, a national treasure upon which none but he could even gaze.

"You've got what some people might call talent."

I chuckled to myself as I repeated Bambam's words back to him from the time he'd last spoken to me. Judging by his befuddled face, I gathered that my notion hadn't gone over his head.

"So what else are you good at? Art certainly was not the first thing on my guess list, but hey, I love surprises."

"I don't...have any other talents."

"Yeah, me neither."

I laughed softly as I lowered myself to the seat in front of Bambam's, turning around so that I could rest my elbow on his desk. He was staring at me again, a look on his face that suggested he was expecting me to elaborate. And I did.

"The only thing I'm good at is basketball. But when I think about it, what else do I need? I'm thankful enough to have at least something to call my own."

"Is that really how you think?"

"Hm." One end of my mouth started to curl upwards without my knowing. "It didn't used to be," I confessed. "When I was younger, I always wanted to play the piano. So I tried taking lessons. I tried and I tried and I tried...but fruitless efforts are exactly that. I got easily discouraged and gave up. But even when my fingers wouldn't play the songs I wanted them to...they still knew how to hold a basketball. It's the one thing that has always come naturally to me. It's my one and only talent, so I don't want to let it go."

Just then the bell rang for the start of class, and I soon discovered one of my classmates politely requesting that I vacate their seat. I didn't want to keep them waiting, but at the same time, I wanted to close this conversation in a way that would keep Bambam dwelling on it. So I left him with one last statement.

"The same principle applies for people, too."

 

 

 

 

 

I was somewhat proud of myself; to Bambam I had said something quite profound, and if my luck hadn't run out yet, perhaps he'd even be able to unlock exactly what it was I had been trying to convey. During the next class--which, coincidentally, was Korean History, and I never paid attention in Korean History--I found myself mentally sorting through image after image of what Bambam's face might look like the next time I spoke to him, chuckling under my breath every now and then, only to be halfheartedly reprimanded by our impassive instructor.

I would have spent the entirety of the class goofing off, for it was much more entertaining than listening to an old man give his viewpoints on the Korean War, but unfortunately...

...tragically...

...something interrupted my pleasant atmosphere.

It was around the three-quarter mark, just a little under fifteen minutes left until our lunch break, when someone stopped by our classroom, a cell phone loosely clutched in her hand and an inscrutable expression plastered on her face. And the first thing she did was request for Mr. Kunpimook Bhuwakul.

"It's about Kohsoom."

My eyes locked on Bambam's countenance like a sharpshooter, though I held back fire until the precise moment I saw it necessary. Those three little words had managed to set his mind on edge, and with heaviness of heart he tore himself from his chair and stumbled over to the doorway to greet the lady who, in a voice so quiet none but he could hear, whispered something to Bambam that seemed to shatter him in an instant.

And he took off. Down the hallway I heard his frantic footsteps echo, bouncing off every wall till they struck my ear like a heatseeking missile which went on to implode in the caverns of my head. I couldn't bring myself to sit still, so I ran after him, paying little mind to the fact I was excusing myself from class without permission, but to be brutally honest, getting another bad mark in history was the least of my concerns.

I had to catch him. I'd already made the mistake of letting him get away in the past. I wasn't going to make that same mistake again.

"Bambam!!"

There was no way he would be able to outrun me. With a bat's eyesight and already faltering steps, it was only a matter of time before Bambam hit a wall, both literally and figuratively. At the moment, however, he was holding on strong, somehow managing to charge at full speed and still turn corners without colliding into any doors or bulletin boards. We were nearing the exit.

"Bambam, wait up!!"

He threw open the door with one heaving tug, darting outside into the warm, yet somehow unwelcoming spring air, only to fall to his knees straightaway. His feigned stamina had reached its peak sooner than I predicted. And to my knees I fell as well, my arms reaching immediately for his shoulders to provide support. He didn't hesitate to shove me aside.

"Stop. I don't want you to pity me."

"Who said I was pitying you? You need to get to the hospital, don't you? I'll help you get there faster."

It took a lot out of him to be submissive, but nonetheless I was aware of the presence of his desperation, and he appeared to be realizing it, too. He said not a word to me. But that was how I knew I had received his permission.

So I helped Bambam to his feet and held tightly to his wrist, guiding him along just as I had done on the day we first exchanged words.

The hospital where Kohsoom was being warded was a little under a mile away from the school, but believe me when I say that I was more than willing to go that distance. Physically, Bambam was fine...at the moment. I wasn't worried about him collapsing halfway through--a mile, in the grand scheme of things, wasn't so great a distance after all. He wasn't looking at the ground, nor at my hand, as he typically did when walking with me. This time...he was staring directly at me. I had to urge myself not to continue with my subtle, over-the-shoulder glances, for he was bound to notice sooner or later-not to mention the fact that his expression was alternating between hopelessly confused and just...hopeless.

The second we arrived at the hospital, Bambam darted out in front of me, but I held fast to his wrist, attempting to pull him back before he ran into anyone. He was anxious, so incredibly anxious, I could almost feel his frantically beating heart through the veins beneath my grasp. And that heartbeat only quickened with each passing second.

"Mr. Kunpimook Bhuwakul?"

A nurse caught sight of him restlessly scanning the reception area, and she called out to him tenderly. Bambam couldn't think straight. He wasn't able to put his senses to use, even the ones that weren't impaired, so the woman's gentle voice went without his reply.

"We're here for Kohsoom," I said in his place.

"Yes, we were expecting a visit relatively soon," she uttered with a hint of sobriety in her tone. She then stepped back and gestured for us to follow her. "I'm afraid the doctors are still with her now, but if you'd like, you could wait outside her room for a little while until they're finished. Would that be-"

"Take me to her."

Bambam had somehow slipped out of my reach without my knowledge, but just then, his hand seized mine, and he intertwined our fingers, pressing each individual one of his against my knuckles so as to ensure...I couldn't get away. He should have known that I hadn't planned to leave until I saw this through, but at the same time, I could understand his behavior. He was terrified. And without Kohsoom by his side, who I was sure he'd spent his entire life holding on to, I was all he had. My heart felt to be caught between two sharp blades.

The nurse led us down the seemingly never-ending hallway, past doctors and patients alike who wore such grave expressions, and while I'm sure not every living being this in this establishment was cloaked in misery and grief, those happened to be the only ones I could see. It reminded me how much I hated hospitals.

"Please wait here for now."

A small, vacant bench sat outside Room 204, beckoning for Bambam and I to claim it. Bambam was shockingly humble about the whole situation now, but I soon realized that this was simply due to how mentally exhausted he was. Whatever went on in that mind of his was wearing him down, so it was only natural that he'd be pushed across his limit with time. Although, I suppose anticipating the results of his sister's operation wasn't the best stress relief.

And all the while he clutched my hand as though I were his last breath of oxygen, and he wasn't ready to give up his own life just yet.

I lost track of how much time had passed with the two of us sitting side by side, our heads turned from each other, faces hidden, though strangely enough, I had a feeling I knew what his looked like. It was like the silent treatment all over again, but much more torturous. I wanted to say something. I wanted to be able to encourage him, to leave him with some sort of inspirational message he could utilize as a pillar, a means of emotional support, even if but temporary. Subconsciously I began rubbing my index finger against the back of his hand, rooting through the mountain of scrambled thoughts in my head in a desperate search to find the right words to say.

I knew how fragile Bambam was. By this point, I was well aware of how thin the walls were of this front he'd built with his own hands. One wrong move and I might end up breaking something. And I certainly was no mechanic, especially when it came to things like broken hearts, so there was no way I'd be able to mend what had been damaged.

I had fallen in love with Bambam somewhere along the way. But this intimacy going on between us seemed vague somehow. Holding his hand didn't make me happy. It only made me want to hold on to him more.

And I found myself thinking, _'no longer. I won't let him be alone any longer.'_

The time swept by us as gradual as gradual could be, and yet the sight of a certain Room 204 door opening rattled by bones, as though in reality, it had been much too soon. Good news didn't waltz through into the halls to shower us with sunshine and roses, but instead we were greeted by the melancholy of a failed operation. Sobriety of mind and manner stretched across the pale complexion of a doctor, who, in unadulterated submission, bowed his head before Bambam and expressed his sincerest and utmost condolences.

"We did all we could for Kohsoom, but in the end it wasn't enough. I am deeply regretful for coming short my duties. I pray that you will forgive me some day."

And just like that, he vanished. The hallways grew eerily quieter. For what seemed like an eternity, I was still, and I'm sure I would have stayed that way, had it not been for the arms so suddenly wrapping themselves around my neck, pulling me closer, closer...

...until I could feel Bambam's tears fall on me.

His body trembled like a leaf, like bare skin against the ruthless winds of winter, quivering, fearful, as the soft, bitter sounds of his weeping tore me mercilessly from my ideal sense of peace and security. I felt the need to hug him back. Merely him holding on wasn't enough.

My conscience told me that I was nothing more than a replacement. But my heart insisted that Bambam needed me...that I was put on this earth...

...for him.

And with that thought spinning endlessly in my restless mind, I finally found the words I was looking for.

"I'm here, Bambam."


	5. Bambam's Lullaby

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yugyeom pays a visit to Bambam's house.

Things weren't the same after Kohsoom died--because as soon as she left, a huge, distinct gap was set into motion, and I greatly feared it would go on to push Bambam further...and further away. Of course, I hadn't expected him to come to school the next day--and he didn't--but having predicted his absence certainly didn't alleviate the pain I felt. I hardly knew Kohsoom, and I believe...that was one of the worst parts of the entire situation. I wasn't given the chance to get to know the most valued person in Bambam's life before she slipped between our fingers like the breath of an ephemeral flower. I wasn't able to smile with the lingering memory of Bambam in his most vulnerable state plaguing my mind, and the hospital scene playing over and over and over again. I had seen him cry. I had held him through it all, silently pleading that he could hear the words I couldn't bring myself to say. I had hoped that my presence was enough...and that was the sole purpose of that brief message I placed in Bambam's hands. But it was painful for me, for all the while I was convinced of myself being inadequate for him, that right then and there, he had wished...I were her.

I couldn't help but wonder how he was holding out--at home, all alone, no doubt, desperately attempting to keep himself together. Or perhaps, he wasn't trying. Maybe he simply wanted to let himself go until the heartache transformed into numbness. Whatever the case, my mind was suffering a great deal as a result, and it affected my outward behavior throughout the entirety of the day.

Setback number one: my demeanor during class. Typically, I could pay attention in most of my classes to a considerable degree, at least adequately enough to win myself passing grades. But I couldn't help it. My thoughts had taken the liberty of morphing themselves into a jigsaw puzzle, and having only received roughly three hours of sleep the previous night, I was much too physically and mentally exhausted to put them back together in their proper order.

Setback number two: my attitude towards classmates. I've said this before, how on a regular basis, I liked to maintain a steady, optimistic attitude, and there were a number of reasons for that. But I couldn't smile today. Several times I had felt both Jinyoung and Jaebum thoroughly eyeing me like some sort of computer scanner, but no matter how many times they restarted their systems, the results were always the same. 'Little Miss Sunshine' had become enveloped by storm clouds.

Setback number three: my performance in basketball practice. Bambam had come to see only one of our practice games, but somehow the gymnasium felt unbearably empty without him. And on that day, for the very first time since middle school, my captain ordered me to abandon my position on the court and bench myself. It wasn't humiliating as it should have been. I was too distracted to be humiliated. Seventeen years of life, and anxiety struck me now. I was aware that my friends' levels of concern were increasing steadily, and believe me when I say that took its toll on my stability, too. I could only hope they would understand...that they would forgive me.

Jaebum and Jinyoung knew, to a certain extent. After all, they had witnessed the very start of it. They saw how impetuously I had rushed out of the classroom after Bambam, and I wouldn't have been surprised if they'd heard me shouting his name, either. But they weren't like me. They weren't stupid enough to push past every single existing boundary just for the sake of "reading the next chapter." Those two drew a line somewhere; and as for Youngjae, I wasn't quite sure what had been going on his mind, but he, too, had decided on his own to wait things out. He trusted me.

"You gonna be able to get home by yourself?"

I didn't bother to make eye contact with Jinyoung. "Yeah. I'll manage."

"Turn off your electronics at 9 tonight," Jaebum remarked in a lecturing tone, which contradicted his usual demeanor. "I'm not tryna sound like your mom or anything, but really, man." He stepped closer to me and tugged at the dark circles beneath my eyes with his thumbs. "Lookin' like a Halloween decoration. Even rays of sunshine need their rest, you know."

"I'm fine, guys, three hours is plenty."

"...dude..."

Jinyoung trapped me in yet another one of his signature headlocks, hesitating to tousle my hair as he usually did, so it came off as more of a gentle, fingers-sliding-lovingly-through-soft-locks gesture. Even Jinyoung visually expressed a hint of embarrassment upon realizing what he'd done. He never really was a master in the comforting department, but he tried.

"Uh...yeah, sleep is...recommended..." He cleared his throat loudly, retracting his arm from around me to scratch the back of his head. "We need our ace player at the top of his game. Well...that, and we want our friend back."

"We're here, Yugyeom."

Having unknowingly stolen my words, Youngjae stared back at me with a heartwarming smile, setting before me the very same unspoken promise I'd left with Bambam. Hidden in that brief sentence was something so endearing, and yet it was so often that people seemed to take its meaning for granted.

He was ensuring me that I could find a pillar in them--promising that, if ever a time came where my legs failed to lift my body from the ground, they would be ready to catch me. They wanted to assure me...that I wasn't alone.

Funny how I nearly forgot something so significant.

"Thank you."

The slightest of smiles graced my lips.

"Thank you, guys...for being here..."

 

 

 

 

It took a bit of humility, a bucket of courage, and mountains of determination for me to show up at Bambam's front door, but I found a couple of good excuses.

A. I had been given permission from a teacher to bring Bambam's assignments home to him, since he lived in the same direction as my place anyway.

B. He lived in the same direction as my place anyway.

C. I really wanted to see him.

I wasn't doubtful of what I would do or say in this situation, much to my own amazement. I had already planned out everything; this would be a short visit, but I reminded myself that a short and sweet stay was better than an unnervingly extended one.

I knocked on the door--softly, because a part of me wondered if he had decided to take an afternoon nap, while another part didn't even want him to hear me knocking. More than anything, I wanted to surprise him. So I took it upon myself to step across just one additional boundary and enter the house, which I felt certain was entirely empty save Bambam.

I could tell right off the bat, all the lights in the building were off. A narrow hallway stretched a short distance till it met a wall, branching out to the left and to the right. I gingerly stepped out of my shoes, which I left directly where I stood upon entering, and made my way down the hall, turning left immediately at the sight of an open door. I didn't knock on that one, either.

_Boy, am I bold today._

I closed my eyes for a split second, only to open them again to find Bambam curled up on a futon with a pair of brightly colored headphones pressed against his ears. At the moment, his back was turned to me; he was completely unaware of my presence, though it was only a matter of time before that changed. I set his textbooks and absentee assignment sheet carefully down on the floor beside him, mentally bracing myself for a harsh reaction before going in for the kill.

\--and by that, I mean a hug. I hugged him.

It wasn't easy at first, but the moment Bambam started to shuffle his movements at the sensation of another's presence looming over him, he made an attempt to sit himself upright, enabling me to fully imprison him in the warmth and comfort of my arms.

Bambam's headphones slipped off of his head.

"I wrote my phone number on a sticky note," I informed him, giving the distraught and puzzled boy one last squeeze before pulling myself away. "It's attached to one of your-...ah, never mind, just hand me your phone."

I figured it would be a much simpler and reassuring process if I inserted the number personally--that way, I wouldn't have to fret over the possibility that maybe Bambam would just trash the note without second thought. Bambam, still dazed from the fact I was even here, didn't try to defend his privacy and allowed me to slip his phone out of his grasp. Even though the headphones were no longer around his ears, music was still playing on the device, and upon recognizing the familiar song title flashing on the lock screen, I unplugged the headphones.

"You listen to foreign music, huh?" I smiled warmly. "This is a pretty popular Russian lullaby, though I'm still a little surprised you listen to this kind of thing. I don't speak the language, but..."

The lullaby was slowly but surely coming to an end, the female vocalist's melodic voice trailing off after one last note, soft piano keys in a high octave carrying on what she had done till it came to a gentle stop. I knew this song well.

"...it's about the love of a mother, isn't it? Towards her son."

I hadn't expected a response from him, and yet I still found it rather disappointing when I didn't receive one. But I told myself to be patient with him. His eyes were stained red, cheeks dusted in a light shade of the same color, his hair appearing to have been thoroughly tousled, strands sticking up here and there like pieces of straw from a haystack. It would have been an adorable sight if the cause of it hadn't been Bambam's unmistakable grief.

Sighing internally, I returned my attention to the phone in my hands so that I could insert my phone number. It should have been a quick and easy transaction, but unfortunately my eyes could not be diverted from the background image of Bambam's home screen--my heart stopped beating momentarily, I was sure of it. I tried my best to shake off the initial shock of seeing both Bambam and his sister...smiling, each with one arm slung over the other's neck, but it came as a near impossible task. They were at least several years younger in this picture. And they were both...genuinely happy. My hands trembled.

"Here...my number is in your contact list now."

My mind's dial was rapidly swaying back and forth between stay and go. I could feel the warmth of my chest skyrocketing as my heart started to beat even louder.

"Bambam."

In this situation, I shouldn't have been showing weakness. When Bambam was at his lowest point, I should have been able to be the pillar I wanted to be.

"Would you like me to stay?"

It struck me like a bullet to the brain, parting the clouds and waters and making the answer as clear as day.

"I'm going to stay here with you, Bambam. There's no need for you to be alone."

And so I stayed. I didn't say anything, and I knew that I didn't have to. So long as Bambam was aware of my presence, so long as he was aware...that I was beside him...it would be okay. His wounds would heal with time.

Just as mine did.

 

 

 

 

Several weeks passed with Bambam's absence causing a lacuna of sorts to settle in the classroom. And with each of those days that passed by like snails on treadmills, I made it my goal to visit Bambam and hug him for at least five minutes. He wasn't fighting me, though more than likely this was due to his sharp decrease in motivation, but nonetheless I figured, 'why not?'. I loved hugs. And Bambam possessed this particular warmth that just set me at ease. Heck, I dared even call his arms my 'happy place.' Christmas was miles away, but I had already scribbled a smile from him under my wish list.

Over time conditions seemed to be improving--in subtle ways, but I wasn't complaining. Bambam began to anticipate my visits. Contrary to the first one, he didn't appear taken aback in the slightest, but rather like he had been eagerly awaiting my return, a look that shouted, 'where have you been?' painted across his sullen face. Each and every day, though, I stopped by his home only to discover him listening to that same lullaby. On endless repeat. It was because of this that I finally decided to look up the translation of the lyrics, just to refresh my memory on the meaning of Bambam's obsession.

The lyrics were as follows:

_Gentle son of mine,_   
_your eyes are growing heavy_   
_I know you're trying to stand_   
_but you're too young_   
_Rest now._

_Fragile son of mine,_   
_I've loved you from the start_   
_your faded eyes and sore limbs_   
_are trying to hold you down_   
_Rest now._

_Dispel of your melancholy,_   
_your sorrow, grief, and doubts_   
_Smile now._   
_Smile before I go._   
_I promise I'll carry you until you can walk on your own._   
_Rest now._

_Beautiful son of mine,_   
_you need not fight alone_   
_Look around you and you'll see_   
_Everyone fighting with you_   
_Rest now._

It was a touching song, and it was no mystery to me why Bambam had taken such a liking to it. I was quite fond of it too, but its sweet melody must have gotten lost in the clutter of pop music that occupied most of my brain nowadays. But ever since Bambam had brought it back to my attention, I couldn't help but dwell on its significance, as well as the possibility that Bambam had been picturing the vocalist as his own mother this whole time.

Perhaps all he really wanted was to be comforted. Perhaps...he was tired of fighting.

That was exactly why I had to be there for him. I wanted to make my presence a muscle memory to him.

I saw myself in Bambam's eyes. And every time he looked at me, I was reminded of who I used to be. Stubborn, distant, hating to rely on others no matter how badly I needed someone to lean on...I was relieved Bambam could at least look to me for support--even if it were only in a vague, inscrutable way. Even if I could only lead him...just one more step in the right direction...rather than watching him at a futile standstill.

Bambam was a solider alright. But even soldiers need to lay down their guns every now and again.


	6. Flame to a Candle

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> His hands moved up to his face and were pressed against it so as to conceal the trembling of his eyes and lips. But I could see the tears. He couldn't hide that from me.
> 
> "B-...Bambam, why're you crying?"

I never spoke a word about Kohsoom to Bambam, nor to anyone, for that matter. And I believed that was only for the best. After approximately one month of shutting himself away, Bambam finally abandoned his life as a recluse and went back to school--and of course, I was ready to meet him halfway, claiming the privilege of leading him there by the wrist. His complexion had grown visibly paler, physical strength no doubt still less than either of us desired. But it was okay. Even if he collapsed one day, my legs could be strong enough for the both of us.

I was happy. Bambam had chosen this out of his own free will. No one else had tried to persuade or guilt-trip him into returning. It was all him. For whatever reason this idea had struck him, the idea that maybe living in solitude forever wasn't such a good idea, I felt immensely grateful for it. This was one step closer to finding his cure.

He still wasn't speaking, though, and to be completely honest there was a part of me that feared I would never hear his voice again. Even if that did happen...I told myself...I could never let him forget the sound of mine.

"You came back just in time for the summer festival, Bambam," I chimed, beaming regardless of the fact his gaze was on the ground. "Summer vacation starts soon, and every year there's this place near the river where people set up booths to sell food and whatnot; we should go, Bambam. There are fireworks. I want to see them with you. Don't worry, they're bright enough. You shouldn't have a problem seeing them."

I gave his wrist a gentle squeeze, proceeding to quietly and tenderly lead him into the school building and straight to our classroom. Several of our classmates gasped softly at the sight of Bambam, and spontaneously they burst into conversation concerning his sudden return to school. A few of the girls seemed to be teetering back and forth mentally as though silently trying to decide whether or not to approach him. In the end, no one did.

No one, that is, except Jinyoung.

"You ain't lookin' so great, pal."

My raven-haired friend approached both Bambam and me, his arm akimbo, head tilted and one eyebrow quirked. The fact that his eyes were fixed on the blonde boy shocked me, and I actually stepped back for a moment to ensure I wasn't misinterpreting the direction or purpose of that gaze. Surely enough, I hadn't misinterpreted anything, but, presuming that I were trying to escape, Jinyoung extended his arm and took hold of my shirt.

"Not so fast, Fire Truck, we have to do this now," he stated firmly.

"J-Jinyoung, what're you talking about?"

"Youngjae made plans to do this on the day of the festival, but just in case I can't make it, I wanted to be properly introduced to your special friend."

Bambam's expression tightened, fists curling and uncurling as his mind reviewed the pros and cons of making eye contact with another human. This wasn't the first time perplexity had taking his being into captivity, but this instance was a bit...different. I simply wished I knew why.

"You're Bambam, right? The partially blind student everyone gossips about." An audible sigh left Jinyoung's mouth after he'd voiced that rhetorical question, brow furrowing for a moment in an open display of exasperation. "Personally, I'm real sorry 'bout them. Should've warned you a lot sooner; not everyone around here's as angelically friendly as Yugyeom. He's one of a kind, ya know? I hope you're treating him well."

He finally looked at Jinyoung--Bambam, with his eyes opened to their full capacity, jaw slightly dropped, had urged himself to meet the taller boy's gaze, and from his seemingly feeble position in his seat, Bambam appeared to be trapped in the shadow Jinyoung so mindfully casted. But I couldn't sense fear. Not even for a second. The quivering of his lips implicitly hinted at a desire to voice a question of his own, but a switch must have been flipped in his head, bringing back to his attention the fact that he wished not to speak. It was controversial, and undoubtedly unpleasant for him as well.

"It took a lot of guts for me to come over here, I won't lie..." Jinyoung let out another tremendous breath, an exaggerated one, clearly. He cracked a smile for some odd reason. "I'm not as amiable as Yugyeom, either. Or articulate, for that matter. That is, sometimes it's difficult for me to find the right words, and I'm not very good at cheering people up, but ya know...in my defense that's something that requires a lotta skill. Mental skill, I mean. Yugyeom's mentally strong--well, I mean he's good at keeping steady...for other people. What I'm saying is...that he's..."

Jinyoung turned his face toward the ground, noticeably shy.

"...Yugyeom is the best kind of person to have around if you, yourself, aren't mentally strong. I speak from experience."

And so my mind's gears turned slowly once again, freezing entirely every now and then just to see if I were paying attention. Jinyoung's heartfelt words had struck a cord in me. He was never so straightforward. Typically, in such a situation, Jinyoung behaved much more...ambiguously. Because he meant what he said when he claimed to lack articulation. But he always meant well--his actions proved this. However, this time he had somehow managed to convey the truest part of that inner Rubric's cube he called a brain.

And I was undeniably moved.

I still remember thinking at that moment, what greater compliment could one possibly receive? But then I started focusing on the latter part of his message--specifically, his claim to have spoken from experience. For a second, my heart became disturbed in its previously peaceful resting place, and my perspective of Jinyoung was drastically altered. All this time, I wondered, had Jinyoung been hiding something? Never before had he spoken to me about anything close to the subject of 'mental strength,' but perhaps...all along he had actually been quite similar to Bambam. Until now, that thought had never crossed my mind.

Jinyoung had once upon a time saved me from a life of depression. I never would have imagined I'd have been able to return the favor, even if in but a subtle way.

Now he was carrying on the legacy, reaching out to another crying soul in hopes of sharing the love that had already been spread so far. He, who knew next to naught about this boy save the sprinkling of contemplative whispers from fellow classmates and who on most occasions would not hesitate to flaunt any and all of his positive qualities and accomplishments, desired to set himself at the lowest possible standing, placing me on a pedestal instead...

Academically, sure, Jinyoung lacked somewhat. By this point I was well aware of that. But today was the first day on which I discovered his knowledge lay on a much more admirable field.

"He chose you...Bambam..." Jinyoung spoke softly. He took a step back as he prepared to leave us. "Take advantage of that."

I wasn't given the chance to say anything to him, but I soon realized that it was probably better if I didn't anyway. I think Jinyoung had intended for me to dwell on his words, but without uttering a single thing more to him on the matter. That was his way of coming out of hiding, as well as showing forth his gratitude.

Because of what Jinyoung said to him that day, I became even more motivated to see this through to the end. To spread the love, to show Bambam comfort, to prove my devotion, to ensure the continuality of my presence, to witness a miracle that only time could mold.

 

 

 

 

 

I held on to my smile throughout the melancholy of that remaining week. The mood had been lightened somewhat, but without Bambam's typical low-key-pissed-off disposition or even the apparent frustration of being unable to ditch me, the air still felt a little too quiet. But I wasn't unhappy. With the sight of him walking to school each of those mornings, a portion of my heart was replenished, and I almost felt like a proud parent watching their child walk for the first time. I was able to focus on the positives.

The day of the festival had arrived like an overdue train, and with the hour of its beginning still a ways away, I would have to suffer the agonizing wait till it pulled into the terminal. It was a Friday; the last school day for the next three months had just come to an end, and I could already taste sand in my mouth regardless of being miles from the ocean. There was a river nearby, though, and coincidentally the festival would be located just beside it, as it had always been. These past several years, Youngjae, Jaebum, Jinyoung and I had gone together, making a tradition of watching the fireworks by the dock--it wasn't that we were all necessarily fascinated with the mainstream color explosions, but somehow we all felt drawn to them, as though they served as a friendly little reminder to our often forgetful souls. And this year was special, for I would be bringing someone new to our gathering, into our family.

Kunpimook Bhuwakul. Bambam.

"Hey, Bambam, would you be interested in wearing something traditional? You know, like hanbok? There's this affordable rental place near the festival's location. If you'll let me, I'd like to get something for you."

He had been responding a lot less lately, and by that I'm referring to any response at all, not merely the use of his voice. Ever since Jinyoung had spoken to him at the beginning of the week, Bambam had been appearing more troubled than usual. Honestly, I hadn't even thought that were possible, and believe me when I say that it hurt to be proven wrong. Reality certainly did have a powerful backhand. It was at times like these I regretted never taking tennis lessons.

His father had given me permission. And Bambam hadn't argued. Bambam hadn't shown opposition. Bambam hadn't shown any emotion at all. He was running on an empty tank of fuel. According to his father, he had been eating regularly, so Bambam's lackadaisical demeanor wasn't due to malnutrition. Sleep habits appeared to be normal, though, which wasn't a good sign. In fact, they were probably getting worse.

It was depression, I told myself. The cruelest of life's repercussions.

Youngjae and the others agreed to meet me at the same spot. By now they were all aware I would be bringing Bambam with me--however, Youngjae, unlike Jaebum and Jinyoung, knew absolutely nothing about the boy's visual impairment or backstory, let alone his appearance. Even at the gymnasium, he had only observed Bambam's vague outline and perhaps received a glimpse of his honey blonde hair, but the hoodie Bambam had been wearing that day concealed pretty much everything else. Youngjae loved surprises and, like me, strongly disliked gossip, though, unlike me, he had a knack for avoiding any drama that didn't concern him. I respected him for that. Most people are always itching to get hooked on a new story, a chapter in someone else's life that has absolutely nothing to do with them, but Youngjae knew where he belonged. If he were meant to discover something, he believed it would fall into his hands.

Most importantly, Youngjae was an open-minded person--Jaebum and Jinyoung, too, and I was confident that the three of them would be able to welcome Bambam naturally. Jinyoung already seemed to have taken that step long before I was aware. He had paved the way for Bambam, in a sense. And I couldn't thank him enough for that.

The hour was closing in on eight o'clock, and I, while pacing back and forth in the kitchen at my house, was preparing myself mentally for tonight. I had promised to pick Bambam up at exactly 8:15, and by 8:45 the rest of my squad would be at the hanbok rental place to join us. They lived a little further away from its location than I did, so it wasn't necessary for me to leave so early, but regardless...I wanted to. I wanted to have plenty of time to search the rental store and hunt down the perfect item for Bambam; of course, I highly doubted he were the type who gave much thought to his outward appearance, what with being visually impaired and all, so this would simply be a tiny, selfish act of mine. I wished for him to blend in, both for his sake and my own. And the festivity of traditional Korean clothing was a flawless weapon.

The clock struck eight. I tore up the floorboards on my way to the door, hurling myself into the brisk air which accompanied the falling of evening, dim skies and wispy clouds, quiet streets and delicate wind that ran its fingers through my hair for but a moment. It was already beginning to smell like summer, but the spring--pun intended--in my step had not yet faltered. I could almost feel sparks shooting out from my heels, propelling me towards Bambam as though both our lives depended on an early arrival. My mind was so caught up in the idea of quickening my pace, in fact, that I just nearly passed Bambam's house. The sight of him sitting outside on his front steps was what stopped me.

I double-checked--no, triple-checked--my watch to reassure myself I hadn't missed my own deadline. Surely enough, I hadn't. I was five minutes early--8:10, on the nose--and yet still Bambam appeared to be wearing an expression that made it seem like I'd kept him waiting a thousand years. I felt undeniable guilt. And I didn't know why.

"Bambam, how long have you been waiting out here?"

Only at the sound of my voice did Bambam register my presence, and a look of pure shock touched his face. He raised his hands simultaneously to pull from his ears a pair of white earphones, which he then tucked carefully into the large front pocket of his navy blue sweatjacket. The hood of said sweatjacket hung loosely at the boy's shoulders, but upon rising to his feet, Bambam lifted it to cover the crown of his head.

"Bambam-"

He started walking on his own. Without giving me the chance to latch onto his wrist, Bambam took the liberty of making his way down the sidewalk, which not only upset me, but also confused me as to why he had bothered waiting for my arrival in the first place. Either way, he had agreed to go to the festival, which did please me. At the moment I was simply fretting over whether or not he would be able to enjoy himself. That was my primary goal for tonight.

It took exactly sixteen minutes for us to reach the rental shop on foot, setting our time at 8:26 p.m. and giving us an additional nineteen minutes before the others would arrive. Nineteen minutes was more than enough. The shop was virtually empty, save a happy couple who had just finished carrying out a purchase and were preparing to leave. Bambam watched them walk out of the shop, his gaze lingering on their smiling faces until the very moment when he could see them no longer. He blinked his tired eyes and soon turned away.

"Bambam, do you want to pick one for yourself?"

He shook his head solemnly from side to side.

"V-very well, then..."

Various racks of hanbok and accessories were set out in the small shop displaying what limited options it had to offer--some were too bright, too flashy and flamboyant, others just didn't look like they would be comfortable. But through several minutes of thorough searching, I came across two that were just right: one consisted of a pastel blue jacket with white sleeves and a single black stripe across the center, and with it came a pair of loose-fitting, dark blue pants, the other being an almost identical design, except it was pink, and had a slightly lower collar.

"I'll take these, thank you."

The generous old man who owned the shop recognized me immediately and flashed one of his signature smiles from behind the counter. By now he was accustomed to the sight of teenagers strolling into this place at the start of every summer, and it always seemed to lighten his mood to be reminded that "younger folk haven't lost interest in traditional clothing yet." His wife had passed on before him. For that reason, I was even gladder to be part of the cause for his happiness.

"C'mon, Bambam, there are changing rooms here." I gave a gentle tug at his hand. "You can try one of these on. I'm sure you'll look great in it."

I guided him gingerly into one of the tiny enclosed rooms in the shop, while I hurried into the other. I had purposely dressed in light clothing so I could just slip the hanbok overtop of what I was already wearing. It fit quite comfortably. Once I had finished putting on and adjusting the hanbok, I popped out of the dressing room and knocked lightly on the door of Bambam's. I hadn't expected him to finish getting ready at a lighting-fast pace, but I still wanted him to know I would be waiting for him.

Suddenly I heard the inside lock emit a click, and slowly but surely the door to Bambam's dressing room opened, and standing before me now was Bambam 2.0, the limited edition, way-too-pure-and-polished-to-not-be-a-doll, traditional Korean version--even though I was aware he was Thai. It truly was astonishing how something so simple could completely transform a person and the visual aura they conveyed. Just a moment ago, the boy's hooded sweat jacket and high-top sneakers tied together a blatant lack of formality-which was totally okay, seeing as he was a teenager attending an event with basically zero formality. But now he was as unrealistically beautiful as the standards of professional modeling magazines.

"You're unfair, Bambam."

He made a discontented face. I laughed under my breath.

"Oh, never mind. We should go."

Taking his hand gently in mine, I led Bambam out of the shop and we continued on our journey to the festival's location, which was conveniently only a few blocks away, just beside one of the cleanest and most spectacular rivers in the entire country. Its scent added to the sweetness of the air, and with the gorgeous array of refreshment and entertainment stands steadily approaching my fingers' touch, my heart could already begin basking in the familiarity of one of youth's most innocent pleasures.

A grin tugged at my lips. I held Bambam's hand even tighter and began racing towards the newfound source of light and life, the area of bursting activity where blissful commotion set fire to an otherwise dull night. Banners of all colors streamed from stand to stand, lanterns and carefully guarded candles seeming to imitate the stars fading into the background, laughter coating any sliver of silence with a tender yet beautiful essence of contentment. It all...entranced me...so deeply that I completely forgot about my plans to meet the others back at the shop.

"Bambam, check this out!!"

Kimchi, bibimbap, bulgolgi, japchae, and many others, all cooking simultaneously, scents clashing in an oddly pleasant way. And of course, there were the sweets as well, but I was setting aside a completely separate stomach for that.

"Are you hungry? Nod for yes, shake your head for no."

He did nothing.

"Do you like spicy food? Of course you do. You're Thai. I'm getting us some spicy noodles."

Even though I had made the decision in my head even before asking him, I felt the need to take in the entirety of Bambam's expression as a means of approval. Instead of getting what I hoped for, however, all I received...was a look of pure misery and exhaustion. I'd been running him around too much, I thought instantly. He needed to rest.

So without hesitation I took a slight detour and pulled him over to the nearest vacant bench, five stands over from the noodles stand I had already set my eyes on. _That's not too far away_ , I thought, though it was truthfully a fickle statement, and I feared leaving Bambam alone for long.

_It won't be long. I'm just making a quick purchase, then I'll be back for him._

"Wait here, Bambam. I'll be right back."

Lady Luck smiled upon me and granted the existence of but a small line, just a few customers who were quick with their purchases. Before I knew it I was at the head of that line. Hastily rummaging through my satchel in search of my wallet, I spat out my order like a pre-recorded message, mindlessly, yet in a way that prevented confusion for the receiving ear. It took around two minutes for the noodles to finish cooking, as they had already been cooking before I arrived, and all the while I was jittering and mentally pacing whilst remaining preparations were carried out. My hands were outstretched even before the woman at the stand had presented my food, and I was long gone before she had the chance to utter, 'thank you for coming!'

It wasn't possible for me to follow a straight path to the bench, for numerous groups of visitors stood in the way, almost seeming to shuffle their movements purposely so as to intervene. I could've sworn I lost ten years of my lifespan simply waiting for them to disperse.

By the time the path to the bench had at last cleared, I was appalled to find that Bambam was gone.

My heart immediately spun into a panic, and all of a sudden I didn't care about shoving aside those whose fault it was not for being in the wrong place at the wrong time. He couldn't have gotten far, another fickle voice in my head chimed, grasping at the strands of rationality that had just nearly escaped me. The cups of noodles were still in each of my hands--and luckily the woman at the stand had provided lids to inhibit spilling--but still they teetered back and forth with each slight turn my body made, the liquid inside sloshing around violently like boisterous ocean waters. If only my eyes could look in different directions at once, I thought, so that I could watch the noodle cups and scan the area for Bambam simultaneously.

I soon found out that such a thing wasn't necessary. I caught sight of him, sitting on the edge of the dock that lay peacefully behind the rows of stands, at the perfect distance from where the fireworks would be set off. It puzzled me...why he had taken it upon himself to leave the bench and relocate to a much more...

...quieter place.

_"Not a fan of crowds, thanks."_

"Of course..."

Something tugged at my chest for a moment. No matter how hard I tried to shake it off, I knew that I would never forget the way it felt. The sight of him sitting alone there on the dock...almost made me regret ever bringing him along.

"Hey...Bambam..."

I lowered myself warily to the wooden boards beside him, draping my legs over the edge just as he'd been doing. Then I held out one of the noodle cups.

"Here. Spicy noodles. Don't worry, I didn't spill any on my way here. Almost...but not quite." I gently pried my fingers underneath the lid and popped it off, watching with immense discouragement as it leapt out of my reach and landed softly on the surface of the river water. I let out an audible grunt whilst reluctantly bending over to retrieve it. The task required a bit of concentration, for I had to focus on holding on to my noodle cup and bending over the dock without falling in. At the height these boards had been built, subtracting the length of my arms, my fingers could just barely brush against the tip of the plastic lid, but I feared that if I were to merely touch it, I would cause a ripple in the water that would carry the lid away.

"Just...a little...closer...ah! Bambam, here, hold my noodles."

With his free hand Bambam accepted the cup, clutching it tightly--but not too tightly--as I resumed my attempt to recover what I had so carelessly lost. A smirk was slapped across my face as I could feel my chances of success skyrocketing, now with an extended reach and a small, kindly wave of sorts beginning to push the lid in my direction. Closer and closer...and closer...

I fell in--no, it wasn't that I fell. I had been pushed. By Bambam. Face-first I tumbled ungracefully into the river, barely managing to hold my breath before water had the chance to fill my mouth. My nostrils, however, did become slightly irritated by the sensation they received by not having been plugged in time. I wasn't under the water for long--a few seconds at most--and I could certainly swim, so my issue with the whole situation didn't lie there. It lay with whatever had compelled Bambam to do what he did.

I hoisted myself back up onto the dock.

"Bambam, what the heck was that for? There are signs that say 'no swimming in the river'. You're making me look like a criminal here."

I doubted he would actually respond; this silent treatment was excrutiating, and while I reminded myself I would simply have to deal with it, the longer it lasted, the more hopeless things seemed.

"I'm not mad...wipe that depressive look off your face." I cracked a smile and lifted my index finger to brush against the edge of his mouth. "The noodles are still okay. And for whatever reason you decided to shove me, I'm sure it was a good one. And I'm still breathing, so I have no excuse to be upset. Come to think of it, great way to start off summer break, huh? I'd consider pushing you in the river too, but you're holding our noodles."

A chuckle slipped out through my teeth into the night air and seemed to freeze, long before it was able to greet Bambam's ears and assure him that the matter was of levity. I was only fooling around, yet he still wore an expression of great discomfort.

"B-Bambam, I was kidding; I wasn't actually thinking about pushing you into the water, relax. Don't look so...glum..."

He wasn't convinced; either that, or he simply wasn't in the mood to endure any of my lame humor today. I held my breath again, along with my heart, and watched as Bambam set both cups of noodles next to him, on his left side, where I couldn't reach. I don't think, though, that he did this out of spite. I believe he had done so simply to free his hands. He wanted to be able to hold something that wouldn't break from too much pressure. And so he clutched his clothing as though he planned to never let go.

"I don't...understand you..."

A timid whisper shattered some barrier and carried its dying body to me, laying itself in my cold, wet, dripping hands like a generous offering--a generous offering which I humbly accepted. I wanted him to speak more, I wanted so desperately for him to speak until his voice could regain light and repair itself again. But instead of getting what I wanted, my ears were greeted with the regrettably familiar sound and sight of Bambam crying. His hands moved up to his face and were pressed against it so as to conceal the trembling of his eyes and lips. But I could see the tears. He couldn't hide that from me.

"B-...Bambam, why're you crying?"

He took me by surprise; doing so seemed to be his forte.

"Did I upset you...s-somehow? I mean, I don't really know what I said, but I'm sorry for whatever it was. You should know by now, I have difficulty with shutting myself up, a-and I'm kinda stupid--wait, no, I'm really stupid, but being stupid has its perks, ya know? Or maybe it doesn't. Anyway, are you okay? Need a hug? I can give y-"

"Why is that...no matter what I do...you always...run after me...?"

His words were fragments, and it truly did seem as though he were learning how to speak, growing increasingly frustrated with himself each time he stumbled.

"I don't understand...how you can possibly bring yourself to do something so...so unfulfilling. And it's exhausting, too, I can tell just by...just by looking at you. All I do is run away from you...I run away and treat you like crap...and yet...you're still here. Every time I look...you're here..."

The tears were staining his clothing. And though it were only in my imagination, I could feel them staining my own face. They were like drops of acid.

"Bambam, I don't like it when you cry."

_"You called me a good luck charm."_

Bitterness and sorrow, blended together to form an emotion that sparked a fire, suspended mid-air, close enough to touch, but doing so would surely bring me harm. But I didn't care. I touched it anyway.

"Even now, I can't tell if you...were just saying that as a joke, but I can't get it out of my head. It's cruel, you know. I've lost sleep because of your stupid voice. You're an idiot..."

"Bambam..." I struggled to swallow my breath. "I didn't mean it as a joke-"

"That's a lie!!" He cried. His fingers began digging into his own skin, so roughly that I feared he would draw blood. "I know you're not deaf, you've heard what they said...all that crap with the 'black cat family' and whatnot." He laughed resentfully. "You know all this...and yet you chose to call me the exact opposite...of what they all said I was...a good luck charm, a good luck charm, a good luck charm...I'm not a good luck charm, I'm a bitter and tired black cat who has nothing left to offer but negativity, a pissy attitude, and no regard for others..."

Finally, he had to stop to catch his breath. I had a feeling he would continue before long, and I wanted to have a word before he sank any deeper into his river of tears.

"Please tell me you don't believe that."

I couldn't tear my eyes away from his face, the weak and trembling hands that were just about ready to give up their positions as shields; the moment I touched them, they fell. But he hadn't stopped crying simply because the shields were gone.

"Bambam, you'll always be my good luck charm."

What was left of the invisible dams burst, and nothing was holding him back from releasing every last bit of what he'd been repressing for so long. I thought about draping my arm around his shoulders, but soon came to the conclusion that holding his hands would be enough--I was already doing that at this point, anyway. So I gave them a firm squeeze and smiled at him, wishing and hoping with all of my being that he would look my way.

And he did.

"This may sound really cheesy," I began in a soft voice, though just loud enough to be heard over the distant, chattering crowds, "but I'm gonna say it anyway, because...well, it's important. You're important, Bambam. To me. It started out as just curiosity, but on that second day...the second day I spoke to you, I mean...something started to develop. You fixed a part of me I had never thought was broken. You, of all people, Bambam, showed me how to open my eyes. Despite all your efforts to push me away, I found myself...still wanting to come back. Being around you felt so natural...and it made me remember something my mother told me. She said that an individual's purpose in life isn't always necessarily connected to 'saving the world', if you will...someone could be put on this earth solely for the purpose...of setting aflame the candle in another person's heart. And I couldn't help but think that maybe...I had found that candle I'm supposed to light."

I was so tempted to plant a kiss on Bambam's fingers; my own hands began to quiver.

"I've come to realize a great number of things because of you, Bambam, starting with the fact...that I want to be something to you. After seeing the way you broke down after what happened to Kohsoom, I knew that I wanted to be someone you could rely on. I've said something similar to you in the past...how if you think about it, you only ever need one person, one person who will stand by your side no matter what you do, no matter what you say or where you go. Having lots of friends may seem nice, but it's not necessary to make someone happy. All you need...is one person. Just one...who will listen to you. One person...who will look after you...and accept you for who you are. One person...who will love you..."

I placed that risky kiss on his fingers and waited for my heartbeat to slow down. But all it did was pick up the pace and scream, 'look into his eyes again.' I did. And not a moment before my own eyes began to well.

"Can I be that person?"

It took time. It took time for it to register, for him to indulge in everything I had just laid before him, for his mind, heart, body, and soul to come to an agreement, one that would mark the first chapter of the greatest days of my life.

He nodded--such a simple gesture, followed by the sensation of his arms wrapping around me, holding me like a flame to the wick of a candle. It lifted such a great burden off my shoulders, and the relief that rushed through my entire body felt like a flood, drowning out the last of my doubts and fears, leaving in their place tears.

Yes, I cried. But these weren't tears of sorrow. After all, I didn't have to worry about Bambam fighting his battles alone anymore. Because his eyes were opened now. Just as that lullaby said, he could rest easy, knowing that I would forever be there to catch him when he fell.

And all the while as he fell, I would be falling deeper and deeper in love with him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you enjoyed this smol, bittersweet story :))
> 
> till next time~


End file.
